


Properties of Glass

by eleanor_lavish



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-06
Updated: 2005-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick's okay.  Greg and Gil, not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sharp

  
Greg just stood and watched with a sort of detached fascination. Grissom had Winters back against a wall, one hand on his gun, his other clenched roughly around Winters’ neck. Greg couldn’t see Grissom’s face, but his back was ramrod straight and his breathing perfectly even. Winters flinched almost imperceptibly as Grissom leaned in and spoke with an eerie calm.

“You’re going to tell me where he is, Daniel.”

“Or what?” Winters struggled weakly against Grissom’s hold until Grissom’s fingers tightened around his throat. Greg’s stomach tightened too. “You gonna kill me, old man?”

Greg was pretty sure for a second that the answer was yes. He wanted to grab for Grissom, but something in his boss’s stance stuck his feet to the floor. _Don’t. He’s the only one who knows where Nicky is, Grissom. He’s the only one who can tell us._

He watched Winters blanch white in terror. _Oh, God, Gil…_

But Grissom didn’t move a muscle, except to smile. “I’m not going to kill you today, Daniel. If you don’t tell me exactly where Nick Stokes is being held, I will make you disappear off the face of the earth. It will take months for you to die, and no one will be around to hear you scream. I’ll feed you in pieces to my pets. Have you ever heard of the dermestid beetle?”

Winters was visibly shaking, his eyes scanning the room for an improbable escape. He finally noticed Greg, locking onto him with his stare, pleading. “This guy’s crazy! You gotta help me, kid.”

Grissom didn’t even turn his head. “Greg…”

“Gris.” Greg was glad his voice didn’t crack.

“Go. Now, Greg.” He could see Grissom’s shoulders tense.

“No.” Before Grissom could order him again, Greg found himself checking, “He knows where Nick is?”

“Yes, he does.” Grissom’s voice was quietly even, and Greg recognized it as the same voice Gris used when the world was about to go absolutely insane, or when one of them was in serious trouble. The voice that meant _duck and fucking cover, Greggo._

But Greg didn’t move. He looked straight at Daniel Winters, the man who had taken Nick, taken him and done God knows what with him, and he found his hands trembling with rage.

Winters was still looking at him. “Please, kid!” He was begging for his life, and Greg found himself mirroring Grissom’s small smile. He shoved his shaking hands in his pockets.

“I think you would be smart to tell Mr. Grissom where Nick is.” His voice matched Grissom’s calm note for note, and he finally understood what Grissom was channeling. Fear. Fear and rage and the horrible feeling none of them would ever see Nick’s face again. “If something happens to Nick, I don’t think there’s a CSI in the world who’ll be able to find you.”

He watched Winters’ face crumple into tears, and felt a twinge of panic. _Maybe he can’t give Nicky up. Maybe he’s already dead…_ He almost missed the strained whisper, but Grissom didn’t.

“Conrad’s Motor Inn? On highway 17? What room?”

“Fourteen. Please, p-please don’t kill me.”

Grissom moved faster than Greg could register. Winters’ head hit the wall with a sickening thud and he slid down it with glassy eyes. “Greg, there’s duct tape in my kit. Tape him up.”

Greg tore open the silver case and ripped a long stand of tape from the roll, pulling Winters’ arms roughly behind him and binding him to the metal piping that ran the length of the floor. Grissom was already in the truck by the time Greg came bounding down the warehouse ramp.

“He’s secure?” Grissom didn’t wait for an answer as he sped off through the empty lot toward the highway access road.

“Yeah, Gris, he’s not going anywhere.” Greg gripped the armrest tightly. His mind spun through the day, trying to figure out how he got here. _Nick not returning from that B &E. Nick’s cell phone in the grass and signs of struggle. Nick’s blood in Winters’ car._ Grissom hadn’t called Brass when the search on Winters turned up the warehouse at Baker’s Field. He’d just left. Greg had followed. It had been almost 22 hours since Nick had gone missing, and Greg could taste the fear, sour in his mouth. There hadn’t been a lot of blood in the car, but still. He felt a fresh wave of rage wash over the fear, and wished suddenly that he’d wrapped the tape around Winters’ dazed face. It was Doc Robbins’ Rule of Threes: three minutes without oxygen… “Gris? Would you have killed him if I hadn’t shown up?”

“…I don’t know.” Grissom’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The highway was almost deserted in the pre-dawn dark. Greg checked the speedometer-- 90 miles per hour.

The drove in silence for maybe fifteen minutes, and Greg’s mind kept jumping forward in time, to Grissom breaking down the door of room fourteen and what they might find there.

“Do you think, I mean, what if we’re too late?” Greg couldn’t believe he’d managed to voice the question, and now it hung there in the air like a ghost. He tried to make it go away. “It’s just…”

“We’re not.” Grissom’s voice was calm but Greg noticed his breathing wasn’t anymore. Gris was swallowing lungfuls of air, chest catching occasionally, stuttering on an exhale.

“How do you know…?”

“Because we can’t be.” It was the least logical thing Greg had ever heard Gil Grissom utter, and the most true.

Greg thought that truth was pretty much all they had to keep them going at this point. He pushed for more. “You love him, don’t you.”

Grissom’s “Yes” was too firm and too quick to be a declaration, so Greg tried to clarify. “I mean, more than Cath and Rick and Sara. You love him enough to lose everything. Enough to kill for him.”

“Greg…” Grissom growled a warning.

“Me too,” Greg’s voice finally broke and the truck veered sharply to the left, heading straight toward a low, run-down building.

Twenty feet from the front door, Grissom broke fast, the wheels spinning out on dark gravel.

 

 


	2. Fragile

Greg jumped out the car before it stopped moving. He could see the door of the motel ahead, and his brain was overtaken by a mantra of  _nicknicknick_ . His hand was almost on the doorknob when Grissom grabbed his wrist tightly. Greg looked incredulously from the hand to Gil’s face. He couldn’t be worried about evidence. He’d seen what Gil did to Winters. All either of them was worried about was Nick.   
  
But Grissom put his finger to his lips, eyes flashing darkly as he unholstered his gun. He motioned with a nod for Greg to do the same.  _Oh, God. Nick might not be alone in there._  The thought registered with a thud to his chest. Greg’s eyes went wide as he realized that his gun was stashed safely back at the lab, with his kit and his vest and everything else he’d forgotten in his rush to follow Grissom to the warehouse. Gil’s eyes narrowed back and he slowly, quietly pulled Greg behind him. He motioned for Greg to stand to the side of the door away from the window, and mouthed for him to wait until he got an all clear. Gun raised, he put one hand firmly on the doorknob, leaned back, and slammed himself like a Mack truck into the flimsy door. Greg winced at the sound but Gil didn’t even flinch, just barreled in without a word and swept the room. After a few seconds with no gunfire, Greg dared to peek his head around the corner.   
  
Grissom was sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed with his pocket knife gripped in a shaking fist. Nick was laid out next to him, stripped down to his boxers and socks and bound up with ripped sheets around his wrists and ankles. Two long lengths of rope secured him to the bed. He wasn’t moving, but Greg couldn’t keep down a strangled sob when he noticed the slight rise of Nick’s chest. He was breathing.   
  
“Greg?” Gil’s voice sounded far away even as Greg ran toward them. “Could you help me with this? I can’t seem to… I don’t want to hurt him,” he whispered and held his hand out Greg with a look of utter terror. His whole body was shaking badly by the time Greg had extricated the knife from his grip and he slid off the bed to the floor, leaning his head back on the mattress.    
  
“It’s okay, Gris. He’s alive.” Greg made quick work of the ropes and sheets. “We made it on time. Okay? Grissom?” Grissom had his eyes closed, face pointed at the cracking ceiling. He nodded minutely and Greg turned his attention back to Nick. “Nicky?” he placed his hand gently on Nick’s shoulder and leaned over to get a better look at his face. Nick was warm, but pale, and Greg flashed to Winters’ car and the blood in the trunk. Scanning the Nick’s body, he didn’t see any visible injuries beyond the raw skin where he’d obviously struggled against the bindings. “Nicky, man. We’re here. Open your eyes.” Cupping Nick’s chin, he slowly tilted Nick’s head to the side. Greg’s short intake of breath made Grissom open his eyes.   
  
“Greg?”   
  
“Head wound. Not a lot of blood, but it doesn’t look pretty. We need to get him to a hospital,” he said while fumbling one-handed for his phone. He kept one hand on Nick the whole time, just reassuring himself that Nick was still there, still breathing. When he turned on his phone, it beeped angrily. He checked—twelve messages. They’d been gone a little over and hour, and it looked like they were finally missed. Greg barely cared, though. Nick still hadn’t opened his eyes.   
  
He and Grissom both jumped as the phone rang. Nick’s eyes fluttered and Grissom moved to kneel next to him and touched his arm with a still-shaking hand. Greg flipped open the phone.   
  
“We’ve got him.”   
  
“Where the hell… what?” Brass bellowed into Greg’s ear. “Is he alright?”   
  
“He’s alive. We need an ambulance…”   
  
“No,” Gil interrupted. “it would take forty minutes for them to get here. We’ll take him in—tell Brass to send a team to the warehouse and the motel, and we’ll brief him later.”   
  
Greg nodded and turned his attention back to Brass. “Grissom says that…”   
  
“Yeah, sport. I heard that. We’re already at the Bakers Field warehouse. What I want to know is how you found Nick.”    
  
“Ask Winters.” Greg spat the name out. “Maybe he’ll cry again.”   
  
“I’d love to, but we haven’t found him.” Brass turned his attention to the buzz of cops in the background. “Any sign of Winters yet?”   
  
Greg stared at Grissom in horror. “But he’s… I mean, we left him there. He should be there.” His throat went dry. If Winters was gone, he could be halfway to the Nevada border. Or halfway to the motel.   
  
Gil’s head shot up. “Winters is gone?” Greg nodded mutely. Gil stood quickly and reached down to slide his arms under Nick’s limp body. He lifted him like a child and strode to the door with Greg on his heels.    
  
“Greg? Sanders!” Brass sounded worried. “Did you say he was here? Because he’s gone now, so you and Gil better keep an eye out.”   
  
“We’re on our way in now. Send a team to Conrad’s Motor Inn. We found him in room fourteen.” Greg snapped the phone shut and pulled the motel door closed behind them.    
  
Gil scanned the empty highway for any sign of movement and motioned for Greg to open the back door of the Tahoe. He placed Nick gently inside and climbed in after him, putting Nick’s head in his lap and handing the keys to Greg. “You drive. Fast.”   
  
Greg didn’t have to told twice. He threw the truck in gear and peeled out of the driveway and onto the road, speeding toward Vegas. He heard a low moan from the back seat and glanced over his shoulder as Nick slowly came to, his eyes focusing on Gil’s face. Gil smiled down at him. “Hey there.”   
  
Nick blinked up at him. “You found me.”   
  
“Of course we did.” As Gil spoke in soothing tones Greg swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. “We’ll always find you, right Greg?”   
  
“Right.” The word cracked on impact with the air and Greg scrubbed the tears from his eyes and sped toward Desert Palms Memorial. He heard Nick’s breathing return to a slow, steady rhythm as he fell asleep to Gil’s gentle humming. 


	3. Hard

Brass had been so ecstatically happy to see Nick he’d cracked half a real smile. He was less happy with Gil and Greg, however. Once Nick’s condition had been confirmed as stable and he was admitted for tests, Brass had turned on them and ordered them out. Out of the hospital, off the case, and—if they were lucky and “got their stories straight”—they _might_  be able to go back to work in a few days. Greg got the impression Brass was more annoyed about having to figure out a way to manipulate the paperwork to get them back without any major disciplinary action than he was about them pursuing Winters without proper backup. Greg was silently glad that the rest of the team was out canvassing the two crime scenes and not here to add their objections.   
  
Greg had never seen Gil Grissom turn that shade of purple. “I am NOT leaving this hospital, Jim! Not until he wakes up and not until you find Winters!” Greg had stood behind Grissom, arms crossed as a sign of solidarity. And also to hide his still tremulous hands.   
  
“Gil. Go. I’m posting two uniforms at his door at all times. Winters isn’t getting in there. No one is. Including you, so why don’t you go home, clean yourself up, and I’ll all you when he can talk, okay?” Brass was using his most reasonable voice, but Greg could tell Grissom was barely listening.    
  
“I’m. Not. Moving.” Gil’s hands were balled in fists at his sides.   
  
“Yes,” Brass’ tone changed to the one he used when dealing with those who were  _un_ reasonable. The one with a dangerous tint to it. “You are. Now. And take Sanders with you.” Brass looked past Gil to Greg, and then to the large officers behind them who could easily pick Greg up and  _throw_  him out of the hospital. He wasn’t so sure they could do that to Grissom, but it might be fun to watch them try. His mouth twitched as he tried not to smile. They hadn’t seen Grissom with Daniel Winters. He wondered if Gil could make those officers cry…   
  
Probably. But not Brass. And from where he was standing, Greg could see that the staring contest between CSI and detective could only end badly for Grissom. He swallowed a sigh. There was no place on earth he would rather be right now than in this hospital, holding Nick’s hand until he woke up and telling him everything would be fine. Telling him… all sorts of things he hadn’t. Things like ‘I sometimes make bets with myself to see how many times I can make you smile in a shift’ and ‘You are the kindest person I have ever met’ and ‘I thought I was going to die when you didn’t come back yesterday’. Not that Nick knew any of that. Not that Greg had any idea if Nick would care if he did. He wanted to say it, though.   
  
But Nicky was asleep and protected and Greg’s real problem right now was Gil, angry and irrational and still covered in Nick’s blood from the drive to the hospital. Greg realized he’d seen more real emotion from Gil in the last four hours then in the last four years. And it was all Nick. Greg knew he was right. Gil Grissom was just as in love with Nick Stokes as he was. The truth of it finally hit him and Greg’s stomach tightened in resignation. Even if Nick swung his way—which Greg was reasonably sure he did—there was no way in hell he could compete with Grissom. Nick practically worshipped him already.    
  
Greg swallowed the sudden bitter taste in this mouth and reached forward to place a hand on Gil’s shoulder. “Come on, Gris. Nicky’s fine. We could use a rest, man.”   
  
“Greg…” It was the same warning tone that Gil had used in the truck. The one that screamed  _don’t push me_ . But somehow he allowed Greg to steer him away from Brass and out into the parking lot. “We can’t just  _leave_ .” Grissom sounded almost desperate.    
  
“We’ll just go grab you a change of clothes and maybe a cup of coffee. I happen to know a few great places for that.” He flashed a grin at Gil’s dark expression. “Look,” he whispered, leaning in toward Gil’s face. “I don’t want to go either, okay? But keeping pushing and Brass will have us tossed for good. We go now, get you out of those clothes and come back when he’s cooled down. An hour, maybe two.”   
  
“Fine.” Gil’s tone was flat but accepting, and they climbed into the Tahoe. Gil drove them in a straight line to his townhouse.   
  
Entering through the foyer, Gil threw his jacket across his immaculate living room and sat hard on the sofa wearing a deadly glare. “I’m not going to  _invade_  the hospital, for Christ’s sake!”   
  
“Yeah, well. You can be a little intimidating. Brass probably didn’t want you to scare the nurses.” Greg headed to Gil’s small kitchen and busied himself making a pot of coffee. He nodded approvingly at the selection of beans in Gil’s freezer, mixing a nice batch and losing himself in the comfortable familiarity of grinding beans and filtering water. _Coffee makes everything better._  He didn’t register Gil behind him until it was almost too late, catching the scalding pot in one hand before it tilted all over Gil’s fresh shirt.    
  
“Fuck!” Gil had the pot out of his hand and Greg’s burned fingers under the cool tap in one fluid motion. “Fucking, ow!”   
  
Gil poked at the burn a bit, grabbing a dish towel and some ice from the fridge and wrapping it tightly around Greg’s hand. “Hold it there. You don’t want it to blister.”   
  
“Jesus, Gris. We need to get you a bell or something.” The pain in his hand was down to a quickly-numbing throb and Greg managed a half smile.    
  
“You’re not the first person to suggest it,” he replied warmly.   
  
“You’re just lucky I saved the coffee. Where you would be without me?” The remark was flippant, but Gil’s face sobered instantly. Greg froze under the weight of his stare.   
  
“I don’t know. I—I’m glad you were there, today. I couldn’t have… Thank you.”   
  
“I didn’t do anything, really.” Greg’s voice sounded breathy, and he realized that Gil was still standing close, holding the towel to his reddened fingers.    
  
“Yes, Greg. You really did.” And Gil closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. This kiss wasn’t all passion and need, but was soft and shattering, and Greg was embarrassed when a small whimper escaped from the back of his throat. Gil pulled back with a small smile and Greg blinked at him through damp lashes.    
  
“I’m—I’m not Nick.”    
  
“Neither am I,” Gil whispered and closed the distance again. And Greg understood.   
  
This wasn’t lust, or love, or any of that. It was comfort. And Greg needed it as badly as Gil did. He tangled his good hand in the hair at the nape of Gil’s neck and pulled him closer, wrapping his arm around Gil’s solid waist, moaning deeply when a strong thigh slipped between his. He pressed himself against Gil until every inch of both of them was covered, enveloped, protected. Hard. Fucking rock solid hard and Gil was wrapping his arms around Greg. He couldn’t say when they moved but Greg found himself suddenly trapped between Gil Grissom’s mouth and his dining room wall, but it suited him just fine as he used the wall to support him and wound a long leg around Gil’s calf.    
  
The icy towel lay forgotten on the floor and Gil hissed in shock as Greg’s frozen hand snuck up the back of his shirt and practically steamed on contact with hot skin. Greg grinned wickedly. “Sorry.”   
  
“No,” Gil nipped the skin at the base of Greg’s ear. “You’re not.”   
  
“Hey, I could have p-put it somewhere else… oh  _god_ !” and he threw his head back, not caring when it made contact with the wall as Grissom’s hand snaked slowly down past the waistband of his jeans.    
  
Greg arched into Gil’s touch, feeling a low chuckle escape Gil’s mouth at Greg’s jaw. Everything was white noise; everything but the feeling of Gil’s heavy breathing against his chest, Gil’s tongue at his neck, Gil’s hand wrapping slowly around him.  _fuckfuckfuckfuck.needyou.sobad._  and he hadn’t realized he’d been saying it out loud until Gil’s mouth captured his again and shut out the words. He shifted slightly and was rewarded by a nearly primal groan and a deep shudder from Grissom. Grissom, who was so hard he was ready to come in his fucking pants just from making out with Greg in his dining room. Greg’s hands reached wildly for the button of Gil’s trousers and managed to undo them and slide his good hand around Gil’s dick despite the rather obscene things Gil was doing with his thumb to Greg’s. Gil was heavy, and felt like velvet and Greg wondered if he tasted like that too, and he gave a short barking laugh as he realized he had never actually entertained the thought of going down on Gil Grissom before and what was he, crazy?! Because this was possibly the best hand job he had ever fucking received and he wanted to be able to return the favor somehow.   
  
And then he pretty much was crazy, as he came with a stuttering sob, still gripping at Gil’s neck, Gil following almost immediately and burying his face in Greg’s shoulder. 


	4. Smooth

A day later, Gil had finally succeeded in winning an argument with Jim Brass. Nick was ready to be released but nowhere near a hundred percent better, and Daniel Winters had yet to be found. Nor had the accomplice who had apparently set him free.    
  
“He needs supervision, and I have practice at that,” Grissom noted wryly as Brass signed forms at the hospital.    
  
“Gil.” Brass just sounded tired. “I’m just not sure it’s a good idea. Besides, Winters and whoever was with him is probably in Mexico already.”   
  
“He needs supervision, I have six days unpaid leave to sit through, and you need all your guys out there looking for Winters anyway, not babysitting. He’s coming home with me.” It was final, and they all knew it.    
  
Nick’s first word upon waking the previous afternoon had been a faint “Grissom?” Greg’s heart had broken a tiny bit, but he squeezed Nick’s hand and smiled when he said, “No, man. Just me.”   
  
“Hey, Greggo. Hey.” Nicky’s smile had been beautiful. Greg realized with a start how worried he’d really been about never seeing it again. He blinked fast so Nick wouldn’t see the shine in his eyes.   
  
Grissom had walked in and all Nick’s focus had shifted in an instant, though he still held fast to Greg’s hand.    
  
And now, as he watched Grissom help Nick into the truck, checking to make sure the seatbelt was fastened tightly with a small smile and a worried crease in his forehead, Greg felt like he was watching his life drive away.   
  
He trudged to his car, which Warrick had been cool enough to drive to the hospital from the warehouse once they’d finished processing it. He was wearing sweats borrowed from Grissom after their… encounter in the dining room. After, it had been weird, but not as uncomfortable as Greg would have imagined. Greg showered, and came out of the stall to find a clean set of clothes on the sink. Grissom had reheated the coffee by the time he’d dressed. They hadn’t said much, but neither of them had said they were sorry, which Greg took as a good sign.   
  
He wasn’t sorry. Shocked and bewildered, and kind of confused, but not sorry. They’d needed each other. Wandering Gil’s townhouse, coffee cup in hand, Greg only felt the slightest bit self-conscious until he’d asked Gil about a particularly odd specimen on his desk and promptly fell into a twenty minute discussion of plant phylogeny. After that, Greg talked surfing, and Gil talked bugs and they went through a whole pot before Grissom had looked at him and said “Think they’ll let us in to see him?” Nick.  _Of course. We should go._   
  
And that was it.   
  
Changing out of Gil’s sweats into his own, Greg felt heavy as he fell into bed. He thought he should feel lighter, with the gaping hole in his chest.  _Be a little more fucking melodramatic, Sanders._  But he couldn’t help it. Greg loved Nick for all the reasons everyone did—his kindness, his smile, his determination, his amazing ass, the way you could gauge his mood from a hundred yards. But Gil… Gil was brilliant and intense and oddly wacky and completely endearing and occasionally really fucking scary and gave the world’s best hand job. Nick wouldn’t last a week without falling in love with him.   
  
Hell. It had only taken Greg a day.   
  
To top it off, he had been written up for following Gil to the warehouse, but for some reason hadn’t been given leave. He’d lay odds that Grissom had talked them out of a more sever punishment. He was grateful, but it meant he couldn’t even stay at home and wallow in peace. His life could not possibly suck more.   
  
After a thankfully dreamless sleep, Greg managed to get in to work with minimal effort and through his shift with minimum human contact. Nick and Gil’s absences meant that CSIs were working smaller cases alone, and Greg spent four hours each processing two separate B&E’s that he concluded were definitely related. He kept himself busy between tasks imagining how long it was going to take for Gil to get his hand down Nick’s pants, but found it was making him both frustrated  _and_  hot, so he switched to wondering how long it would take Warrick to finally get his hand down Catherine’s pants. Much more fun.   
  
Not that his mind didn’t wander to Grissom’s townhouse. Often.   
  
Changing at his locker, he barely suppressed a sigh as Catherine walked in. “You doing okay? You seemed almost… sedate out there today.”   
  
“Yeah, Cath. Don’t worry your pretty little head about me.” He flashed what he hoped would pass for a patented Sanders cheeky grin and apparently failed miserably because the next thing he knew, Catherine was hugging him tight.   
  
“You’re still worried about Nick. Brass’ guys will find Winters. You should give Nick a call, make sure he’s okay.”   
  
‘He’s fine. I don’t want to,”  _interrupt loud couch sex_  “be annoying, or anything. Grissom’ll watch out for him.”   
  
Catherine pulled away and gave him a wink and a half smile. “I’m sure he’s  _safe_ , but would  _you_  want to be under house arrest with Gil Grissom as your warden?”   
  
Greg’s laugh was slightly hysterical as he hid his furious blush by pulling a sweatshirt quickly over his head. He ran out of the room with a “maybe I’ll call later” tossed over his shoulder to appease Catherine. Then home, to his comfy bed, and Star Wars DVDs and Capt’n Crunch out of the box. Wallowing to commence in T-minus thirty minutes.   
  
He was barely strapped in to his car when his cell rang. It was Grissom. With a sudden, sick feeling, Greg flipped open the phone and asked “What’s wrong?”    
  
“We’re hungry, and Nick is requesting that you bring burritos from Manny’s.”    
  
“And extra hot sauce!” he hears Nick add in the background.   
  
“You do know Manny’s delivers, right?”   
  
He hears an exasperated sigh from Grissom. “Yes, Greg. Go get the damn burritos.” And then the phone went dead. Greg just sits for a minute, looking at the phone like it had grown another head. Or, you know, any head.   
  
Gil’s idea of post-coital bliss was burritos delivered by Sanders Express? Well, okay then.    
  
He was on Gil’s doorstep forty minutes later with a basic plan. In, eat one burrito, make sure Nick was okay,  _don’t check for hickies, as it is none of your business_ , out. Half hour, tops.   
  
But somehow it was three hours before he extricated himself from under Nick’s arm on the sofa and climbed over Gil’s feet propped up on the coffee table, with a huge yawn and the reminder that  _he_  had worked a full shift, unlike some people, and was in need of a long sleep in his own bed. Three hours of burritos and gin rummy and the Discovery Channel. A quick scuffle with Nick over the last of the hot sauce confirmed that Nick was both recovering nicely and hickie-free. And with the exception of ten seconds in the kitchen when Gil had stepped a little to close while loading the dishwasher, causing Greg temperature to spike a few degrees, it was all incredibly, infuriatingly  _normal_ .    
  
Apparently, Nick had spent most of the night sound asleep in Gil’s guest room, still hopped up on pain meds, while Gil worked on, of all things, a paper for his annual entomology conference.   
  
_What the fucking HELL, Grissom?_ , Greg wanted to yell.  _He’s right here, and you could seduce him with a glass of bourbon and a verse of Shakespeare and you call me for burritos?!_   
  
Maybe he was really not the smartest guy Greg knew.   
  
By the time he got home, he had already written it off as a fluke, as some bizarre Grissom form of social retardation that he would certainly get over the first time he saw Nick padding into the kitchen without a shirt. He jerked off in the shower to the vision of Gil fucking Nick on his dining table and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.   
  
He was almost as surprised the second time his phone rang at the end of shift. “Greg? Nick says that I live in the nineteenth century and is demanding you bring over your Playstation.”   
  
“And make sure you bring Grand Theft!” He heard Nick add pointedly. Nick had never won against Greg at Grand Theft Auto. Greg chocked it up to the fact that, even in video games, Nick played too nice.   
  
“Got that?” Greg strained to hear some resentment in Gil’s voice; something that would tell him this was a courtesy call and he should really just go home and let them get on with… whatever two sexy, gorgeous men did when they didn’t have a Playstation to interfere.  _Man, have I been watching too much porn._  Greg shook his head.   
  
But Grissom sounded amused and relaxed when he added, “And don’t worry about food this time. We went shopping today, and Nick picked out a bunch of stuff that I need your help identifying as real food.”   
  
“Hey!” Nick’s indignant yell was laced with laugher. “Greg! Tell him that Little Debbie’s count as their own food group!”   
  
Greg couldn’t help smiling as he pulled out of the parking lot, phone in hand. “I’ll go pick it up now. See you in thirty minutes.” He made it in twenty-five.   
  
This time, though, when he started nodding off enough that Nick actually managed to kill him three times in a row, Gil took his keys without a word and Nick steered him to the guest room.    
  
“No way you’re driving anywhere this wiped, G.” Nick’s voice washed over him as he collapsed onto the still unmade bed. “Just crash here. Gris and I will wake you in time for shift.”    
  
Greg dimly registered that this was Nick’s bed, and knew that he and Gil were trying to stay on an almost nightshift schedule to make the transition back to work easier next week. “Where’ll you sleep?”   
  
Nick chuckled and ran his fingers lightly through Greg’s hair. “I’ll manage.”   
  
_Oh. Yes. Well, then._  He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block the mental image of Nick in Gil’s bed by turning his head into the pillow. The pillow smelled like Nick.  _Fucking hell._


	5. Transparent

He woke with the nagging feeling of being somewhere unfamiliar. A warm hand rested on his neck right below the ear, the thumb running in comforting circles over his jaw. “Hey. Greg.” He blinked his eyes open as Nick’s soft voice. His smiling face was inches from Greg’s. “You better get a move on if you want to get home and change before work. ‘Rick will give you hell if you show up in the same clothes.”   
  
_So this is what it feels like waking up with Nicky Stokes._  Well, not exactly, but it was as close as he was ever gonna get and Greg allowed himself to be pulled up and out of bed by Nick’s strong arms. Downstairs, Grissom pressed a travel mug full of coffee into his hands on the way out the door. Nick stopped him before he got all the way down the steps.    
  
“Bring some good beer in the morning, G. The bourbon’s getting kinda old. And maybe a movie where something blows up? Gil’s collection is a little arty for beer.”    
  
He blinked, holding the coffee cup in both hands and taking a small sip. “Okay.”   
  
_Okay._   
  
Greg’s arrival at work, and the intense grilling he was getting from Sara for turning up with Gil’s “We’re Nuts About Bugs” coffee cup, was interrupted by a triple homicide in the hills, and Greg found himself all too able to forget about Nick, and Gil and their bizarrely fun mornings. Three kids, all under the age of ten, all bludgeoned to death by (it was looking more and more likely) their mother and her boyfriend. It was horrific and perfectly awful, and Greg found himself desperately in need of Nick’s sympathetic shoulder and Gil’s solidly warm presence. Instead, he had fucking _Ecklie_  there to supervise, full of snide comments and thinly masked annoyance at having to be out of bed at this hour. The third time he used the phrase “white trash”, Sara had to physically restrain Greg from grabbing him by the collar and laying him out.   
  
It was almost noon by the time they’d finished processing the scene, and the lab results, and the most heartbreaking autopsies Greg had ever witnessed. Even Doc Robbins looked stunned at the extent of the damage, squeezing Greg’s shoulder reassuringly as he left the morgue.    
  
He didn’t even bother going home this time; he drove straight to Grissom’s. Gil seemed to know what was wrong the second he answered the door. He didn’t even ask, just pulled Greg into a bone-crushing hug. “Come on,” he said quietly, rubbing Greg’s back soothingly. “Nicky’s ordered pizza. Then why don’t you run upstairs and shower and we’ll get you to bed.” He nodded mutely and blinked away the tears threatening to spill. Neither of them pressed for details. They didn’t have to. Grissom worked on the morning crossword puzzle, peering over it every now and then to make sure he was eating. Nick sat next to him on the couch occasionally bumping Greg’s knee with his own. He made it through almost a whole slice before he lost his appetite entirely.   
  
It felt weird to shower in someone else’s bathroom, and Greg found his cheeks flushing hot at the memory of the last time he’d showered here, just days before. Somehow, he felt a lot dirtier this time.  _Kids, man._  Warrick had looked ready to hit someone when they left, and he hadn’t even seen them at the scene. When he emerged from the shower, there were clothes on the toilet seat again, and Greg wondered how Grissom could be that damn quiet.  _Still need to get you a freakin’ bell, Gris._  He smiled for the first time in fifteen hours.   
  
Shuffling into the guest room, he found Nick already stretched out on the bed, eyes closed. Greg noticed that the bruising around his neck near where Winters had hit him with his tire iron was faded to a pale yellow already. He couldn’t help himself; he reached out and touched the mottled spot under Nick’s ear. Last time he’d touched Nick there, the spot had been covered in blood. This time, Nick’s eyes fluttered open immediately. “Hey, Greggo,” Nick smiled.   
  
“Sorry. I didn’t mean… I’ll go grab the couch.”   
  
But Nick caught his hand and tugged lightly even as his eyes sagged shut again. “Big enough. Stay.”   
  
Half of him wanted to run, to get the hell out of this place before Nick and Gil drove him completely insane. The other half wanted to crawl under the covers and cling to Nick until he couldn’t tell where he ended and Nick began. He compromised by lying down gingerly on the bed, his hands clenched neatly at his sides. But Nick turned with a grunt and flopped a toned arm over Greg’s torso. Greg reminded himself to breathe.   
  
“Hey,” Nick whispered. His eyes were still closed, but he looked worried. “You okay, G?”   
  
“Y-yeah. I’m. I’ll be fine.” Greg stared up at the ceiling. “You?”   
  
The crease in Nick’s forehead slowly disappeared. “’M good.” He gave Greg’s arm a light squeeze and settled into an easy sleep. Greg looked over at the door when he saw the hall light go out. Gil smiled at him as he closed the guest room door with a click.   
  
He woke three hours later to the sound of cracking wood and children’s screams. Panting, he rolled out from under Nick’s arm and made a run for Gil’s bathroom. He threw up in the toilet and splashed cool water on his face with shaking hands. He took off his t-shirt to rub at the spots where he’d missed the bowl. Leaning on the sink, Greg looked at himself in Grissom’s bathroom mirror, his face illuminated by the harsh midday sun that snuck in around Grissom’s thick window shades. Examining his pallid face, he reflected—not for the first time—that maybe he just wasn’t cut out to be a CSI. He was too young. Too young for this job, too young for Nick, WAY too young for Gil, too young to have any idea what the fuck he was doing.   
  
“Greg?” Gil’s voice was so gentle that Greg barely heard him. Blinking at the mirror, he watched Gil walk up behind him. They just stared at each other’s reflections for a minute. “How old were they?”   
  
“Nine, seven, and three and a half.” His voice sounded choked, and his throat felt parched. He leaned over and took another sip from the faucet. Gil was a few steps closer when he stood back up. “Does it… does it get better?”   
  
“When it comes to kids? No. The day something like a dead kid doesn’t affect me is the day I retire.” Gil’s smile didn’t make it to his eyes.   
  
Gil’s hand was cool on his bare back and Greg’s breath stuttered as he turned blindly into the touch. He had his arms around Gil’s neck before he could register what a bad idea it was, and suddenly it didn’t matter, because Gil was drowning him in another full body kiss. It was gentler than the ones before, but more intense, and Greg moaned lightly as Gil’s strong arms snaked around his waist and hoisted him into the ledge of the sink until he was standing between Greg’s knees, hands tangled in his hair.   
  
The first coherent thought Greg had was  _I can’t believe this is happening again_  followed quickly by  _Please, oh please don’t let him stop_  and then  _nothing in the world could be better than this, except maybe_   
  
“Nick.” The spell was broken as Gil stepped away like Greg was on fire. Which wasn’t far from the truth. Greg’s eyes flew open as he grabbed to balance himself on the sink.    
  
Grissom was staring into the mirror over Greg’s head with an expression sheer horror; behind him stood Nick Stokes. 


	6. Malleable

The second Greg made eye contact, Nick took off like a shot, his feet thudding down the stairs to Grissom’s living room. Greg spared a quick glance at Gil, whose look of horror had morphed into dread, and ran after him.    
  
“Nick! Nick, wait!”   
  
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Nick was standing in the open doorway clad in nothing but pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt, blinking at the sunshine with a look of dazed confusion. “I don’t… ,” his voice broke with a slightly hysterical laugh. “I don’t have my car.”   
  
In the back of his mind, Greg registered a phone ringing somewhere in the house. The sound caused Nick to flinch. “Nick, please. It’s not what you think.”   
  
“Actually, it clears up a lot.” He was still facing outside, staring at the street as though he could will his car into Gil’s driveway. “I knew something was off. I knew it couldn’t be that easy.”   
  
“What couldn’t be…” But Greg’s question was cut off by Gil’s small strained voice coming from the stairs behind him.   
  
“Nick? That was Brass. New Mexico PD picked up Winters and his girlfriend for a drunken disorderly in Albuquerque and we should have them in custody soon. It’s...” Greg could feel Gil deflate behind him.  _It’s over._   
  
“Can I go home now?” Nick didn’t sound relieved. He sounded distant, and scared. He glanced over his shoulder at the two of them and Greg wondered if the news about Winters had even registered, or if he was still picturing the scene in the bathroom. Greg was suddenly hyper aware of his own bare skin, and the places Gil’s hands had just been.    
  
“You don’t… you don’t have to. Nicky.” Gil sounded afraid, and Greg felt him take a step forward. He instantly pushed against the irrational urge to step back and take Gil’s hand, let him know it was okay, it was good, Nick was going to be alright. Greg thought he’d relax at the news that things could go relatively back to normal—Nick could go home and Gil would come back to work and Greg could go back to spending his mornings safely asleep in beds that don’t smell like gorgeous Texans. Instead, he felt the gaping hole creep back into his chest.    
  
He suddenly just wanted to be  _out_  from between them. Let them work it out.    
  
“I’ll go.” Greg grabbed his keys from the side table. He pushed past Nick in the open doorway, his eyes burning.    
  
“No!” The word came in stereo and Greg felt Nick’s hand close around his arm, pulling him back inside and firmly closing the door. Nick was so, so close, and Greg reached out to touch him, but Nick released his arm with a strangled noise as Gil reached them in the doorway. Nick backed quickly into the living room and Greg searched Gil’s face for some sort of reassurance, some sort of  _plan_ . Grissom was the guy with the plans.    
  
But Gil just blinked at him and said, “Don’t go. That’s not… Greg.”    
  
_So much for a plan._  Greg felt his face grow hot, his whole body turning pink from anger and frustration. “Why the fuck did you have me even come over here? You had him all to yourself, and it would have been fine!” He was yelling.    
  
“YOU were the one he wanted to see, Greg.” And there was the resentment, creeping into Gil’s clipped reply. Greg knew it hadn’t been buried that far.   
  
“Then why did you even CALL, if you wanted him to yourself?” And Greg felt his own bitterness bubbling below the surface. No way Gil was going to pin this on him.   
  
Gil was in his face now, close, and hot. “I wanted what was best for Nick.”   
  
“And I  _don’t_ ?!”   
  
“You ARE! You are what he needed—not me. I was just there to make sure he was safe.”   
  
“Bullshit, Gris! There was only  _one_  reason you brought him home with you, and we both know it.”   
  
Gil stilled, closing his eyes. “A small lapse in judgment.” Gil’s voice was pinched. “I was stupid.”   
  
“Yeah, you were. Any thought that I could ever possibly,  _maybe_  compete with you was gone the first time you kissed me, and you could have had him that first NIGHT and you called me for burritos. Just let me get the fuck OUT of here so you can pretend these last three days didn’t happen and move forward in domestic bliss.” Greg knew he was shaking visibly.    
  
“He needed you.”   
  
“Grissom, GOD.” He pushed hard against Gil’s solid frame, but Gil didn’t budge an inch.    
  
“Excuse me? I’m still here, you know.” They both startled at the sound of Nick’s voice. They stared at him stupidly.  _Oh, well. This was just. Great._  “Are you two… fighting over me? Exactly how hard was I hit on the head?” Nick sounded almost amused.    
  
“It’s not…” Greg grasped for a plausible denial.   
  
Gil just sighed heavily and leaned on the door next to Greg. He ran a hand wearily over his face. “Yes, we’re fighting over you.”   
  
Greg’s jaw snapped shut and he stared hard at Grissom.  _Way to be subtle, man._   
  
“So, wait. Is this the point where I’m forced to choose, or the point where you two duel to the death for my hand?” Nick’s mouth twitched. Greg wished he knew the joke.   
  
Gil just looked tired. “I’m too old for this. I’m just going to go back upstairs. I can’t…”   
  
But Nick moved faster, standing between Gil and Greg at the stairs. “Whoa, there. I don’t think so.” Nick was pissed now. Greg closed his eyes.  _Here it comes._   
  
Nick started with Grissom. “Did you really only bring me here for one reason?”   
  
Gil shifted uncomfortably under Nick’s stare. “Well. Yes.”   
  
“So why didn’t you?”   
  
“Why didn’t I what? Seduce you?” Gil smiled sadly. “I decided there were probably better options for you.”   
  
“You mean Greg. So, what, you decide that he’s what I need, but you’d better test him out first?”   
  
Greg couldn’t stop the bark of slightly hysterical laughter that escaped as he shrank as far from Nick and Gil as he could get. It wasn’t far.   
  
“And you.” Greg opened his eyes. “That’s not the first time that happened, is it?”   
  
Greg shook his head slowly. “It’s not what you think. You were lost and then we found you and it was just. You weren’t _dead_ , okay?”   
  
Nick seemed completely at a loss for words at that. He slowly reached out both hands and laced his fingers through Gil’s right hand, and Greg’s left. “I’m fine. You know that, right? I mean, I freaked for a bit in that motel room, but Winters was an idiot, and I knew you’d find me. I’ve been fine since the second I woke up in the truck, and you were there. You were  _both_  there.” He squeezed their hands on the second sentence for emphasis. “And I came back here with you, thinking that finally,  _finally_  one of you would say something…” Nick swallowed around a lump in his throat.   
  
Gil stilled beside Greg, but Greg could feel something thrumming below the surface of his skin where their shoulders touched. He wondered if Nick could feel it too. Gil’s voice was measured, controlled. “Why didn’t  _you_ , Nicky?”   
  
“Because I didn’t want…” his voice hitched and Greg pulled him closer without thinking. “Because I couldn’t choose. I couldn’t.” He looked up at them with shining eyes, and Greg’s breath caught at the look in them. It was fearful, and hopeful. “And if there is any way at all that I never have to, I’m going to take it.” And in the boldest move Greg had ever seen, he released their hands and stepped forward, twining one hand around Gil’s neck, the other around Greg’s, pulling Gil in first for a desperate kiss. Greg was close enough to see the moment Gil gave in to the thrumming in his veins and opened his mouth, one arm pulling Nick flush against him, the other reaching out to pull Greg closer to them both.    
  
Greg lost all ability to speak, just feeling Nick’s hand convulse on his neck as Gil let out a low, guttural moan. His body was covered in electric sparks and Greg blushed furiously as he realized the desperate keening noise that filled his ears was coming from him. Nick tore himself away from Gil and pulled Greg close, and Greg couldn’t breath, he couldn’t, not with Nick’s tongue pressing into his mouth, not when Gil stepped behind him and planted searing kisses along his bare shoulder.    
  
He was gasping when Nick released him, and he found his hands clenched tight around Nick’s waist, pulling him closer, and Gil’s hands snaked around from behind him and tugged at the hem of Nick’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head. And then there was nothing between them, nothing at all, and Nick was plastered against his front and his back pressed into Gil, and Greg was damn sure he wasn’t going to be able to stand up for much longer, the cotton of three pairs of flimsy pajama bottoms doing nothing to mask how hard they all were.    
  
_No choosing._  It was a stupidly simple thought, and probably had all sorts of hidden dangers, but he couldn’t think of a single one right now. And Greg would have laughed, but Nick was still kissing him like he was trying to make up for years of lost time, and he could feel Gil’s fingers reaching around him to slip into the waist of Nick’s pants.   
  
Gil’s voice sent tiny shivers down to Greg’s toes, his breath warming the skin under his ear. “Oh, God. You’re both so, so beautiful.”   
  
And in an unspoken agreement, Greg and Nick turned their attention full force to Gil, Nick pinning Gil’s arms to the wall, Greg turning and sliding his hands under Gil’s shirt and letting them roam freely as he leaned in for a kiss he knew from experience would be nothing short of devastating. He had Gil’s shirt hitched up to his armpits before he realized Nick was still holding fast to Gil’s arms.    
  
He pulled back from the kiss and Gil’s eyes fluttered open in surprise. Greg grinned at him. “Nicky? I need his arms, man.”   
  
“Mmmm,” Nick hooked his chin over Greg’s shoulder and murmured against the skin under his ear. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. He’s a slippery devil.”    
  
Greg could feel the grin on Nick’s face spreading to match his. And they both watched in fascination as Gil leaned his head back and laughed. Greg could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Gil Grissom really laugh.    
  
“You wanna tell us what’s so funny?” Nick reached a hand up and cupped Gil’s jaw. Gil turned and planted an open mouth kiss on Nick’s palm before turning his smile back to them.    
  
“Absolutely nothing.” And then Greg was literally swept off his feet as Gil tightened one free arm around his waist and pulled him inward and up, until he was pressed flush against Gil, all of his weight lifted off the ground so he had to wrap a leg around Gil’s or risk falling over.    
  
“Damn, Gris. You been working out?” Nick’s hand steadied Greg’s back as Gil lowered him back to the ground. Gil turned to Nick and pushed him until Nick was pinned against the wall, Gil’s thigh slipped firmly between his own. Scraping his teeth gently over Nick’s collarbone, Gil whispered soft enough that Greg could barely hear. “You’d be amazed at what the human body is capable of, Nicky.” He pulled away abruptly and Greg had to reach out a steadying hand to keep Nick from sliding down the wall.   
  
Gil took a step back and his smile slowly slid into something else, like the look he would get at scenes when something didn’t quite make sense yet. His eyes skittered from the Nick’s dilated pupils to Greg’s fingers still splayed over Nick’s bare chest, to the flushed skin running the length of Greg’s torso, to his bruised lips. “Is this? Are we really doing this?”   
  
Greg wanted to smack him for being ridiculous, because why would he even need to  _ask_  but Nick’s voice was serious, the need in it barely suppressed, when he replied, “Yeah, man. We are. You okay with this?”   
  
Gil’s voice was low and shaky and Greg finally noticed how hard Gil was breathing. It wasn’t from exertion, Greg knew. He hoped it was from the effort of keeping himself from fucking them in the hallway. “Is this going to work? I mean, I suck at this.”   
  
Greg smiled at him. “No. Trust me, you don’t.”   
  
Gil shot him a look of mild annoyance. “Not that, Greg. The… the part after. I’m really bad at that part under  _normal_ circumstances.”    
  
Nick wound his fingers with Greg and they both stepped firmly into Grissom’s personal space. Nick draped an arm gently over Gil’s shoulder and leaned in until his forehead bumped Gil’s. He drew Greg over until they made a slightly lopsided triangle of bodies and limbs. Nick’s voice was thick with emotion. “Maybe it won’t work, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”   
  
Greg suddenly felt like this was getting incredibly too serious. He was half-naked, with  _Nick and Gil_  and a second ago he thought he was going to need a crowbar to separate the three of them, and now they were talking about practicalities and the morning after. Maybe Gil was right. Maybe they only had one shot at this, and it would all go straight to hell, but that just meant they should  _shut the fuck up and go with it._  It was time for drastic measures.   
  
“Gil, you are the most socially retarded person I have ever met, as proven by the fact that you are even pressing this conversation right now, and Nicky, you are way too sweet for your own damn good or you’d have told him to shut up and fuck you already. Luckily, I am programmed with the correct male response to situations like this, which is to point out that this is a really,  _really_  good idea, and we should just roll with it, and,” Nick cut off his babbling with a harsh kiss, all teeth and pressure. Greg registered how close they all were, Gil’s harsh breath becoming a low growl in his ear, his side pressed against Gil’s chest. Nick pulled away slowly, his eyes almost black with want.  _Well, thank god…_   
  
“Do that again.” And it wasn’t a request from Gil; it was a command. Nick kissed him again, his hands roaming over Greg’s bare chest, nails scraping lightly over taut nipples until Greg gasped. They broke apart, Nick’s mouth planting one last kiss on Greg’s jaw. Nick turned back to Gil with a half smile.   
  
“God help me, but I think we should listen to Greg.”   
  
A smile slowly spread over Gil’s face. “Race you upstairs.” And he was off, tossing his shirt on the floor of the hall as he went. Greg shook his head in utter amazement and glanced at Nick. But Nick looked like a kid at Christmas. He waggled his eyebrows before taking off after Gil, Greg hot on his heels. 


	7. Epilogue

“Greg?”    
  
Greg poked his head around the wall into Gil’s kitchen. “Yes?”   
  
“Where is my good spatula?”   
  
“I used it to kill a bug in your study. Creepy little thing, yellow wings.”   
  
“You  _what_ ?” Gil’s eyes were huge. He took a quick step toward Greg.   
  
“Whoa! Kidding! Jeez, man.” Greg just shook his head at Gil’s annoyed expression. “Nick’s got it out back with the grill stuff.”   
  
“Not. Funny.” Gil glared at him as he picked up a large platter and walked toward the back patio.   
  
“It was a  _little_  funny,” Greg grinned, following with three cold bottles of beer.    
  
After over a month of take-out and ice cream in bed, Nick had let it slip that he was a self-proclaimed Texas Grill Master. Greg and Gil of course demanded a practical demonstration. So here they stood at nine o’clock in the morning on Gil’s patio, Nick poking at three fat steaks marinated in the Stokes Family Secret Sauce. Greg admitted it smelled awesome. And he’d had a preview taste earlier when Nick had dripped some onto his fingers while loading up the grill. Greg had spent a good two minutes licking it off before Nick pushed him away with a strangled laugh and an admonition not to let him burn dinner. “Not my fault if Texas Grill Masters don’t know how to multi-task,” he’d replied with a wink. But he’d contented himself with plopping in Gil’s lap and leaning his head on his shoulder while Gil and Nick discussed a case they were stumped on.   
  
After their admittedly delicious meal, the three of them collapsed on Gil’s sofa, groaning the groans of the truly full.   
  
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again.” Greg closed his eyes and undid button of his jeans, sighing at the released pressure.   
  
Nick’s sleepy voice came from his left. “What is it about good steak that makes you feel like you’re going to explode?”    
  
“Well,” Gil piped in from Nick’s other side, “The chemical breakdown of beef in the human system,”   
  
“Rhetorical question, Gil.” Greg could hear the smile in Nick’s voice.    
  
“Oh.”   
  
Greg chuckled and leaned heavily on Nick until he finally relented and raised his arm so Greg could wrap himself around Nick’s side. “Don’t squeeze too hard, G. Serious about the exploding here.”   
  
But Greg didn’t squeeze. He let his eyes drift closed and his hand drift slowly down Nick’s chest to the edge of his Texas A&M sweatshirt, slipping his fingers underneath and savoring the feeling of Nick’s warm, smooth skin. As he ran his hand up, up, and over Nick’s already hard nipple, he felt Nick lean his head back on the couch with a low groan. “Tag teaming me when I can barely move is  _so_  not fair.”   
  
Greg opened his eyes to see Gil’s sly grin, and followed the arch of Gil’s tanned arm in time to see his hand sliding expertly past the now-unbuttoned waist of Nick’s jeans. Greg just ginned back at him and leaned in to close his mouth around Nick’s other nipple, teeth grazing it lightly. As they all knew he would, Nick bucked up into Greg’s mouth, his hand coming up to tug at Greg’s hair. “F-fucking hell. I really can’t… oh  _g-god_ .”   
  
Greg smiled into Nick’s skin as he watched Gil’s hand begin moving in long, slow strokes. Nick was whining above him, still murmuring something about “not fair.” Greg leaned up and traced open mouth kisses along Nick’s jaw to his ear. “You should stop complaining, Stokes. Gil’s really very good at that.”   
  
Nick’s laugh was shaky, and he tilted his head to capture Greg’s mouth. But, as he and Gil had discovered relatively early on, Nick was uncontrollably vocal during sex, and Greg found himself swallowing tiny whimpers and low, stuttered moans. If he wasn’t already hard—and Greg found that he was perpetually hard these days—Nick Stokes sex noises were Greg’s new aphrodisiac. He pulled back and just watched Nick’s face as Gil pulled and stroked him up and over the edge, hitting his release with a loud shout and a shudder that shook the lamp on the side table.    
  
“Oh. Fuck you both.” Nick’s eyes fluttered shut and Greg glanced past him to Gil, wiping his hand on a tissue from one of the myriad Kleenex boxes they had finally learned to place in every damn room. Never knew when one was gonna come in handy, so to speak. Gil caught his eye with a bemused wink.   
  
“Now that the cook has been properly thanked, get over here.” Greg barely paid any attention to Nick’s protests as he climbed over the sated Texan to straddle Gil’s lap. Gil had both their shirts off and his hand down the back of Greg’s jeans before he had even found a comfortable position. “Don’t bother getting to comfortable. You’re going to have to get up in a minute to take these off,” Gil promised, tugging on Greg’s beltloops.  _Oh, fuck yes._  Greg’s brain shorted out entirely as Gil sucked long and hard on his Adam’s apple.    
  
If Nick Stokes’ voice was Greg’s constant aphrodisiac, Gil Grissom’s was his fucking wet dream. In the beginning, this had led to a few tense days on the job, and to a lot of Greg carrying things around in front of his groin as Nick tried not to laugh at him. It was getting better to compartmentalize, though. The “Greg, I need you to check on a 419 on Yearling Drive. Take Warrick.” voice was Work Gil.    
  
The “Greg, I need you, now” voice was Home Gil. The same Gil who was pushing Greg off his lap with a pointed look, sliding his own jeans over his hips as Greg shucked his off and kicked them into a corner. But not before retrieving a condom and a small tube of lube from the pocket.    
  
Gil shook his head fondly as Greg repositioned himself on Gil’s lap, hissing as his dick came into contact with Gil’s. “You’re quite the wishful thinker, aren’t you?” His voice was laced with amusement.    
  
Greg dipped his head and slid his tongue lightly over Gil’s upper lip. “I’m a practical guy.”    
  
They both turned as Nick snorted. He had turned so he was leaning against the arm at the other end of couch, watching them through heavy-lidded eyes. “You guys gonna shut up any time soon? I’m trying to enjoy the show.” He slid a bare foot along Greg’s naked thigh.   
  
Greg batted his foot away and lifted onto his knees, wobbling slightly as the cushions sagged under his weight. Gil took the lube from Greg’s hand and had two fingers inside him before Greg even had the condom wrapper open. “ _Fuck_ , Gil. How do you  _do_  that,” he barked through clenched teeth.    
  
Gil just chuckled, his breath catching for just a second as Greg’s hand expertly rolled the condom down his shaft. Greg allowed himself to rock back lightly into Gil’s hand until the position was obviously too uncomfortable for either of them to sustain for long. Then Gil’s hand maneuvered Greg over him and down until Greg was being stretched wide around Gil’s cock. Greg gasped, pausing every few seconds to get used to the delicious burn, relaxing into the hands which were stroking soft circles into his back. Greg’s eyes slid closed as he found a rhythm, rising and falling, Gil meeting him with each slow stroke.    
  
Gil’s magic hands found Greg’s dick, and he stuttered a protest. He never lasted long once Gil’s hands were on him. “S-stop.” He wrapped his hand around Gil’s and tried to stop the rough thumb from running over the head. “You first.”   
  
Gil leaned in and kissed him softly, increasing his pace against Greg’s whining protests. “Next time,” he said against Greg’s throat. “This time, I want to see you come.” Greg registered Nick’s low moan at that, and opened his eyes as he felt the couch strain under protest. Nick was kneeling next to them, already half hard again. Greg smiled knowingly at Gil. Another thing they’d learned in the last few months? Nick loved a good show.    
  
Greg braced his arms on the back of couch on either side of Gil’s head as Gil began to fuck him in earnest. Greg let his eyes close again and drowned in the sounds of sweat-slicked skin and panting breathes and Nick’s whispers of  _”fuck yeah, oh god, so fucking gorgeous”_ . Gil’s magic hands were still tugging and pulling and  _oh, FUCK_  and Greg convulsed hard, making Gil hiss with pleasure beneath him. Greg came with a shout, Nick grabbing his hand and squeezing as he shot hard against Gil’s chest. Gil’s fingers tightened on his hips, the rhythm all but lost as Gil fell over the edge to catch up with him.    
  
His thighs were screaming when he finally extricated himself from Gil’s lap and was pulled tight against Nick’s chest. He had the fleeting thought that they should probably invest in some decent couch covers, or Gil’s furniture wouldn’t last past Christmas. But Nick’s steady breathing behind him lulled him into an almost comatose state and he heard Gil sigh as he pulled Greg’s feet into his lap and put his own up on the coffee table.   
  
Greg was naked and happy and his skin tingled everywhere. He blinked his eyes open and glanced up at Nick. “Weren’t we supposed to watch a movie after dinner?”   
  
“Don’t need a movie when I’ve got you two.” Nick’s fingers raked through his hair and Greg was sure it was probably a huge mess by now. Not that he cared.   
  
“Yeah, but we rented them four days ago, and they’re due…”   
  
Gil squeezed his feet to cut him off. “So what do you want to watch, Greg?”   
  
“Well, we’ve got ‘Die Hard 2’-- highly underrated, if you ask me—and ‘The Fifth Element’—which is cool, even with the annoying Chris Tucker bits, and ‘Pi’—for some reason.” He glanced accusingly at Gil.    
  
Gil’s eyes were already closed. “Make Nick choose.”   
  
Nick smiled into the skin on Greg’s neck and poked Gil with his foot. “No fair. You know I suck at choosing.”   
  
Greg laughed lightly and turned so he was draped over Nick’s chest, his feet still firmly in Gil’s lap. “Good point.” 


End file.
